


What is wrong with you?

by spacioussmuthut



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Angst, Guzma is mentally scarred, Male Solo, Masturbation, Other, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 23:25:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8867488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacioussmuthut/pseuds/spacioussmuthut
Summary: a very short and angsty fic about Guzma jacking off





	

**Author's Note:**

> please visit my tumblr: http://spacioussmuthut.tumblr.com

_Guzma! What is wrong with you?_

  
He sat, panting on his makeshift throne as he pushed the elastic of his pants down his thighs, freeing his erection. He tried to have self control about these things, but sometimes he just couldn’t help it. Sometimes he just failed.

  
_What is wrong with you?_

  
He began desperately pawing at it, hesitant to actually grasp it correctly in his hands. But soon he was a shivering, whimpering mess, and his mind was screaming about how much it wanted the sweet relief he’d get if he just caved in. So he did. Even now he was weak.

  
_What is wrong with you?_

  
Grabbing his cock firmly in his hand, Guzma started pumping it as fast as he could. He just wanted to get it over with, to be done as soon as possible. His body had other plans, though, regardless of the fact that he was so touch starved.

  
_What is wrong with you?_

  
His white hair stuck to his forehead uncomfortably, slick and sticky with sweat. He wasn’t even done yet and he was already a filthy mess. He let out a small sob before catching himself and choking down the rest. He was pathetic enough already, crying would just make him more of a failure.

  
_What is wrong with you?_

  
He tried to take his mind off what he was doing, to try and remove himself from the situation. It didn’t work. It never worked. All it did was make his fathers’ voice in his head more clear, more real, more hateful. Failure. Weak. Retard. Pussy. Cry baby. Suddenly he was back home, a child again. A bronze trophy. A bent golf club. A yellow swing. Deep, purple bruises on pale flesh.

  
_What is wrong with you?_

  
After a few moments he realized that he’d stopped. It was like he was paralyzed. And now the tears were there, streaming freely down his face. God, he was disgusting. Too disgusting to get an actual partner to satisfy his needs. Too disgusting to even be worthy of any of that kind of attention.

  
_What is wrong with you?_

  
What felt like hours went by before he could bring himself to continue, jerking himself so hard it hurt. He deserved the pain. He deserved everything he got. When he finally reached his orgasm he came without a sound, more ashamed in himself than he had been in a long time. He looked down at his cum splattered hand, the substance oozing through his fingers and dripping onto his pants.

  
“What is wrong with me?”


End file.
